The Watcher

About the Book

Who is that guy sitting up there on the hydro pole every day? What’s he doing up there? Where did he come from? Why is he there, anyway? Who sent him? The Watcher invites the reader to pause and consider the merits of quiet enjoyment, time set aside to meditate on matters of lasting value, and step back from the brink of being consumed by the fur-lined mad-house of today’s society, one palpably designed to suck us into the maelstrom of collective cacophonous chaos.

About the Author

Kenneth David Brubacher was born into a large family of sort of Mennonites in Elmira, through no fault of his own. He was encouraged to make an attempt at becoming a normal human being, but with limited success. To the surprise of nearly everyone he graduated from secondary school in 1970. From there he traveled the world extensively turning his hand to many kinds of jobs and eventually returned to Elmira having accomplished very little. He got work as a millwright but it soon was clearly evident that he was a millwrong. After being mercifully fired from that job he went trucking and almost immediately distinguished himself summa cum laude (with oak leaf cluster and Silver Star) by destroying the truck. He got married and begat two lovely daughters which took after their mother in many wonderful ways and turned out normal. It was considered a blessing that he had no sons because there was a high degree of probability that if he had sons the little morons would turn out like their dad. Knowing little about shoes and even less about feet he then took over his father’s shop and started to make shoes by hand on April Fools’ Day 1978. Very few people caught on. It was obvious that people whose feet were so bad they sought out the services of a cobbler were not very fussy. The business prospered in spite of its inherent inadequacies. He also applied himself to many varieties of sport, establishing a universal mediocrity in their pursuit seldom seen. When his body was sufficiently trashed he took up umpiring baseball where it was observed that his training must have occurred under the tender administrations of the CNIB. Currently he makes his home on a rented farm near Creemore and repairs a few shoes in his small shop in Collingwood. The farmhouse will soon become a gravel pit whereupon it was his intent to establish institutions where Mennonites could go to seek quiet enjoyment. This, of course, until it was pointed out to him that somebody had already done it. These establishments are known as Mennonite Farms. The author heartily recommends that any reader who takes a notion to write and produce a book or a play, to lie down on the couch and play videos of fawns gamboling in a sunsplashed meadow full of butterflies - until the feeling goes away. It is hoped that you enjoy the book and that its contents and presentation may provide therapeutic assistance in the remedy of your insomnia.